Necro
by psychopathjack
Summary: How cruel was it to know that this darker manifestation wasn't a soul trapped like the others. Malik-centric. Thiefshipping.


Written sometime ago, found unfinished some time ago, and finally finished about a month ago. The ending may be a bit sudden.

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><p>"Malik…" Bakura breathed heavily into the tan boy's ear, obviously aroused. This happened quiet often, as Bakura couldn't, or perhaps simply refused to control his urges. "…how about the couch?"<p>

However, Malik turned his head, attempting to read the morning paper in order to clear his mind. "Damn it, stop ignoring me! You've been for an entire week now."

"No, I'm just not always in the mood to fuck whenever it pleases you." Marik kept his eyes on the paper, processing which article was less boring, the review on some tennis tournament or something about a music hall in America performing at the newest Japanese festival.

Bakura huffed and pushed himself away, turning his attention to the oak table in front of him. "Seriously? An entire week without any wants for some loving?"

"Do normal people have sex every other day of the week? I think not."

"Actually, I read something about that once, and most couples do. It's very normal."

"You read something?" He scoffed.

The albino cackled, "Yes, I read a magazine. I must give credit that stealing can become boring now and then."

"And sex can't?"

"Nope." He grinned now.

Malik's eyes shifted to glance at the other for just a moment. Honestly, he wanted to have a physical release as much as Bakura bugged him for…but not after such a horrifying reminder that his darker personality hadn't completely faded away.

"Speaking of which," Bakura added standing up and rummaging through their small yellow refrigerator, "You also have been reading the paper at an alarming rate."

"If you can read I can read." Malik stated sharply.

Bakura grinned and gave a shrug, "I don't read everyday, but hey, Ryou says reading and news keeps the mind sharp."

Oh, how wrong Bakura was, and Malik couldn't have been more glad. How would he explain it? The feeling of wet yet dry skin pressing against intimately, the sagging bones and rotten smell. The dead silence invading his memories, when they weren't his to have, nevertheless acted out with his body, his flesh.

In addition, he saw it all from beginning to end, sometimes swearing he could feel it. Starting from something his darker half had always done, killing and more killing. However, he supposed his other would range from mild death to the extremes…and this was what he himself considered extreme.

It all started, from what Malik gathered, when he thought he was off to sleep one night. Drifting out what the now a full memory of the darker Malik blinking, and moving to leave. Bakura wasn't there that night allowing easy access to the outer world.

He had no particular plan of where he wanted to go as he just drifted through the city in its midnight hour. Originally, Malik and Bakura wanted to settle somewhere close where Ryou and he could go to school, having found solence in Yugi and his friends. Thus, it was expected to find bustling noise and lights flashing about, but that's not what this darker self wanted. Not one bit.

He wanted to feel the wet earth of grave soil under his fingertips. And he did, because he rummaged through several grave sites and coffins. Malik believed at first that all his darker self wanted was to steal, perhaps a nasty habit he picked up from Bakura.

No. He was eyeing the corpses. Which one was most beautiful? Which was the most intact. He picked a woman, freshly buried with little decay except around her eyes and nose. Possibly her fingertips too…  
>And he kissed it. He touched it and so much more…<p>

Good God, he made love to it, laughing horribly. It was almost like a child pleased with a sick prank, granted this darker Malik was a child always pleased with a sick prank.

Malik couldn't look at himself in the mirror; it was hard dressing and showering. If Bakura did, more than just whisper in his ear the white haired man would realize Malik's hair was greasy and matted, and that his skin felt ashy. Malik hated more than the thought of sex. He hated anything to do with himself.

How cruel was it to know that this darker manifestation wasn't a soul trapped like the others. It was Malik's locked up hate and rage, his split personality. He was sick to stomach.


End file.
